Slow Burn
by ilyahna
Summary: WITH INFINITYSTAR! Two bizarre murders lead Goren and Eames across the Atlantic, where they find themselves working with Scotland Yard to catch a border hopping criminal. Things unexpectedly heat up when Eames falls for a savvy British detective! AUOC.
1. Charity Begins At Home

This is a collaborative piece with InfinityStar. Though it is a sequel to The Garden of Vice, it stands alone as a story- you can still read this! Before the next chapter, we will post a summary of the pertinent events of The Garden of Vice, and an explanation of characters (though there are only minor appearances by them).

-

Chapter 1 "Charity Begins At Home"

**Midtown, New York City**

**The Imperial Hotel**

**May 21, 2009**

Waiters scurried about like busy ants, gathering the salad plates and delivering the entrees. Penelope Davenport cut into her chicken, casting a glance at her father Harold as he accepted his steak from the waiter. "How can you eat red meat, Daddy?"

Harold looked down at his plate, then he sliced into his steak and smiled at her as he held up his first bite. "Just like this, honey," he said, putting the bite into his mouth with a flourish.

She frowned. "That's just disgusting." She wrinkled her nose at him. "It's a wonder you've lived to see sixty, you know that?"

"Lighten up, princess. I'll be around to see eighty. Eat your salad."

She cut into her chicken again and smiled wanly at his optimism. The light conversation continued as dinner progressed, and Harold found himself relieved that his daughter's fiancé had chosen not to accompany them. In addition to the nasal British accent, the boy was particularly uninformed about Habitat for Humanity; in fact, if Harold assumed correctly, Ethan had never worked a day in his life, and likely didn't appreciate what it took to get ahead in the world.

He took a drink of his water and eyed his daughter. She was the picture of her mother, chestnut hair and a bright complexion, and just as demure. He wondered sometimes if he hadn't done right by her, being away much of the time, working. He found solace in the fortune he'd acquired, however, and the fact that his Penelope would never be subject to the many woes of poverty.

"So this Prince Charming of yours," he said. "Where'd you meet him again?"

Do we have to get into this again, Daddy? I told you I met him in Rome. Have you suddenly developed memory problems to go with your enlarged prostate?" She said the last in an uncomely, mocking way.

Harold flushed. "Penny, there is no reason for you to be rude."

"Then let's not go on about Ethan. You should be happy for me that I found someone like him to love."

He speared another bite of steak, lifted it part-way to his mouth, and then lowered it to the plate again. 'Someone like him...'" he repeated. "Tell me what about him is so endearing."

Penny smiled now, as though the question pleased her. "He's a real gentleman, Daddy. And he listens to me... thinks I'm interesting." She picked a cucumber from her salad and deposited it on another plate. "He actually asks my opinion on what goes on in the world."

"And just what goes on in the world, sweetheart?" Harold asked, only belatedly realizing how it sounded. There were many virtues he recognized in his daughter, but she had led a sheltered life, and he had wanted it that way.

She frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it. Finally she said: "A lot." Then she took a drink of her water, color in her cheeks.

Feeling guilty for insulting her, he said, "I'm interested in your perception of the world, Penny, and what it is about your opinions that fascinates this young man."

She wasn't fooled. "No, you're not," she said. "You're just looking for some reason to reject him."

"Maybe I want reassurance that he really is interested in you..." he tried instead.

"…And not your precious money?" she finished, frowning at him. She set her glass on the table with a thump, and rearranged the napkin in her lap angrily.

"Penny..."

She shot him an angry glance. "You are impossible, Daddy!" She turned away from him, determined to ignore him for the rest of the night. It was an old argument, and nothing she said would convince him that Ethan loved her for who she was and not for the size of her father's bank account.

The awkwardness was somewhat staved away by the conclusion of dinner, followed immediately by several speeches, in which her father's generosity was praised and he was forced to smile and nod appreciatively. At last, with a round of general applause, it was over, and people were standing.

Harold, smoothing his suit jacket, attempted a smile for his daughter's sake. He was tired from his illness, but he was even more tired of the constant bickering between them. It had been this same scenario since Penny had returned from a summer in Europe with a British fiancé in tow; every conversation seemed to end in an argument.

"Let's go get some ice-cream," he offered.

She scowled at him.

"Martini?" he amended dryly.

"Much better." She said, gathering her purse. "I'm not ten any more."

As they walked to the bar in the adjoining room, Harold reflected on how much easier she had been to deal with when she _was_ ten. Back then, ice cream and porcelain dolls had gone a long way toward soothing hurt feelings. Now? Now he had no idea what to do to make things better, especially since he'd made it clear he didn't much care for the surprise she'd brought back from Europe.

Armed with a dry martini, he tried again. "What was it that drew you to him, Penny?"

"You mean other than his appearance, or are you fishing for reassurance that I'm still a virgin?" Penny plucked the olive from her martini and popped it in her mouth.

Harold's face turned red. "Penelope!"

"Don't be a prude, Daddy. I didn't think you were really interested in what I thought. Oh, look...there's Carol Barker. Excuse me, please." Martini in one hand and purse in the other, she left her seat and crossed the room.

Harold finished his drink as he watched his daughter laugh and carry on with a small group of friends, wondering first when he'd lost touch with Penelope and secondly, if he'd ever been in touch with her to begin with. Her mother had died when she was only four, and he'd done the best he could as a single father. There had been the best schools in New York, the finest clothes, and women, nannies, he'd paid a fortune to provide some feminine presence in his daughter's life. He'd worked hard to give her everything he hadn't had as a boy, and the result was a child he now realized that he barely knew.

Suddenly, the martini had lost its appeal. He pushed it away, laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar, and crossed the room to his daughter.

"Why don't we call it a night, Pen?"

For some reason, this elicited an eruption of laughter from Penny's friends, and Harold flushed again. Penelope cast a long-lashed glance at Carol Barker, then smiled at her father. "I think I'll stay behind, daddy." Then she put her hands on his shoulders, leaned up, and kissed his cheek. "You get some rest." She was again the demure daughter.

Her ability to change roles on a dime spun his head sometimes and he had long ago given up trying to keep track of her various metamorphoses. "As long as you have a ride home."

"Carol and Damien will see me safely home. Good night, Daddy."

He sighed heavily, wishing he understood her. "Good night, Penny." He kissed her cheek in return.

While he was waiting for the valet to bring his Mercedes from the garage, it began to rain. The weather reflected his mood very well. As he drove home through the wet streets, he wondered if he had done his daughter a disservice by allowing others to raise her instead of doing it himself. Did the financial empire he had built justify the loss he was only now realizing he had suffered? He would never know the answer to that question.

-

**Hours Later**

**The Upper West Side**

Penelope shut the door of the car, took a step onto the curb, then whirled and grabbed the door handle. She hauled the door open, leaning in. "I forgot muh purse," she slurred, giggling.

"Call me tomorrow!" Carol said, and Penny gave her a thumbs up as she shut the door again, waving at Damien as they drove away. She slung her purse over her shoulder, and maneuvered up the stairs of her father's West Side brownstone, one hand on the baluster. Alcohol and high heels weren't an ideal combination.

She reached the door and pushed it open, realizing as she clattered through it that it was past six in the morning, and the click of her heels on the Italian tile floor sounded disastrously loud. She bit her lip against more laughter, and kicked the shoes off.

Bending over to pick them up, she stumbled forward a few steps and giggled some more. The door closed with a soft click as she weaved her way into the wide foyer beyond the entryway. She stumbled over something in the dim light and laughed. "Oh, Marcy..." she quietly chastised the housekeeper as she fumbled for the light switch.

The lights came on, and the first thing she saw was the odd discoloration of the blue, high-heeled shoes in her hand. Darker, on one side. She examined them curiously, then her eyes strayed to the floor, and her mouth fell open. Her father lay there, face down, the back of his head a mass of tangled hair, red and sticky and, the floor around him was a pool of dark blood.

She backed away, instantly stone cold sober, and fumbled for the door. She wrenched it open, and found herself on the porch, and couldn't stop screaming.

-


	2. Back To The Grind

-If you have not read The Garden of Vice, but you're reading this anyway, you may scroll to the bottom of this chapter for a little recap of characters and plot that will help you to understand things more clearly.

Chapter 2 "Back To The Grind"

-

-

Traffic was heavy on the Van Wyck Expressway out to Kennedy Airport, and Eames was annoyed. The wet roads and rainy skies didn't help matters any. At least the flight had come in on time; she'd just gotten off the phone with Goren, and he was going to wait for her at the arrival pick-up area. Eight o'clock on a Monday morning...he was so going to owe her coffee and a Danish. Didn't it just figure they'd get a case the minute he was flying in from out of town? Of course, it would probably be worse if he was still out of town and she had to process the scene without him. She wasn't sure she wanted to deal with his version of crime scene twenty questions; he never stopped at twenty.

She fought down the temptation to use her lights and sirens. The victim wasn't going anywhere; CSU was already on scene and they knew not to disturb anything until she and Goren got there. Her thoughts turned to her partner, and she wondered just how far his relationship with Juliana Everett had progressed. She was surprised when he'd told her he was flying to Boston for the weekend to attend River Everett's graduation from M.I.T. That was enough for her to deal with. But the thought that Jozua would probably also be there prompted a hot lump of anger to tighten in her stomach. As much as Goren tended to protect her, she also felt a protective streak toward him, and she didn't trust the rapacious lawyer as far as she could throw him.

The roar of a jet engine broke into her thoughts and she glanced skyward at the huge 747 making its final descent into the airport. Studying the traffic ahead of her, she figured another ten or fifteen minutes and she'd be there. He should have plenty of time to get out of the terminal. It was a weekend visit; how much luggage could he possibly have brought?

As it turned out, her estimate was a little off, and she finally pulled the SUV onto the terminal thoroughfare at eight thirty. She growled in irritation when she didn't immediately see his conspicuous figure waiting at the curb, and she pulled in behind a black limousine to wait. Scanning the crowd, she realized why she hadn't noticed him at first; he wasn't alone. She'd had no idea they would be with him, but she recognized Juliana, her blond hair partly covered with a paisley scarf, and saw River too, who stood out easily in a crowd.

Her first inclination was to honk the horn, but with a sigh she realized that would be a bit more rude than was necessary. Despite the circumstances of their last case, in which Juliana Everett had been a suspect, Eames hadn't disliked the woman, and felt after everything they'd put her through, she owed her at least some courtesy. Besides, she was more than a little curious.

She tossed the 'police business' placard on the dash, and made her way to them. Goren and Juliana's backs were both to her, and as she neared them, it was River that saw her, and said something inaudible to Goren. Her partner turned his head.

"I didn't see you pull up," he told her, and she could tell immediately from his tone that she was really the last person he wanted to see at that moment.

She didn't blame him, considering she was essentially a harbinger of death. "No big deal." Looking at Juliana, she offered her a quick smile. "Hello again."

"Hello," she said softly, and returned the smile.

Because she didn't want to be rude, Eames added, with a nod: "River. Congratulations on the big event."

The younger man looked surprised at her acknowledgement, but he murmured his thanks and then glanced up at Goren. "Tomorrow night, right?" You'll be there?"

Goren opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by another voice that said irritably: "I hate to disrupt this pleasant gathering, but I've got work to do, people." Jozua Everett passed them, coming from the terminal door, and opened the door of the silver Lexus in front of them. He tossed his shoulder bag inside it and turned a sour expression on them all, his eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses. He held the door open and motioned shortly toward his brother. "Get in the car."

Goren rubbed his chin and looked at Juliana, who shrugged. He shifted his gaze toward River and gave him a nod. "I'll be there, River."

River smiled at him before climbing into the Lexus. Jozua turned to his sister. "Let's go, unless you're going with them."

She frowned at him, then turned to Goren, lightly touching his hand. "I'll talk to you later?"

"Count on it," he answered with a smile.

Leaning up, she gave his cheek a light kiss, grabbed her bag, and climbed into the car beside River. Without so much as a wave, Joz slid into the passenger seat and spoke sharply to the driver, who pulled away from the curb and took off toward the airport exit.

Goren watched the car for a moment, then turned to his partner. Grabbing his bag from the sidewalk, he asked, "So what do we have?"

Ignoring his question, she tossed her head in the direction the Lexus had taken. "What was that all about?"

Goren shrugged. "He's hung over."

"Too much celebrating? I thought River was the one who graduated."

"I'm not so sure it was celebrating." The conversation was making him uncomfortable. He tossed his bag into the back seat and slid into the passenger side of the SUV. "Now what do we have?"

"Ross didn't get too much into detail. A wealthy man on the Upper West Side apparently walked in on a burglar after a charity event last night."

"And Major Case landed it because..."

"Wealthy man...political contributor...mayor's friend..."

He nodded understanding. "Great. Another political case."

"I know. I'm already getting a headache. The guy's daughter found him and went into shock. They took her to St. Clare's, so we'll have to talk to her there."

"This just gets better and better."

"Doesn't it?"

A silence fell between them for a few miles, finally broken when she said, "So how was your weekend?"

"Fine."

"Nice graduation?"

"Yes."

"I wasn't expecting to see everyone..."

"Jozua's car was late, which didn't help his mood any. Otherwise, they would already have been gone. I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable."

"It seems to me you were the uncomfortable one."

He looked down at his hands, settled in his lap, and frowned. "You don't like Jozua..."

"Does anyone?"

"His sister and his brother do."

"And you?"

He nodded. "He's not too fond of me right now, though."

Eames cast him a curious glance. "What'd you do?"

Goren gave her a short look. "Nothing. He's just..." He shook his head. "I didn't do anything."

Eames had known him long enough to realize from the tone of his words that he was done talking about it. She shrugged, and concentrated on driving.

Rush hour traffic had mostly dissipated, but JFK was still almost a half hour from the crime scene. There had been a time when the two detectives would have spent the transition in silence, but once she'd left off the topic of Boston, Goren turned to another topic of conversation. They passed the time discussing Eames' nephew, a subject she never tired of, and before long they had arrived at their destination.

Eames parked the SUV behind the too-familiar Medical Examiner's van, and they got their first glimpse of the victim's home. It was a four-story brownstone, stained glass windows on the top floor and a trellis, covered with roses, on the west corner. The steps, tiled in pale greens and blues, ended at a double door, one side of which stood open at an angle. A man, short, stocky, and with a badge clipped to the lapel of his suit coat, stood to one side of the door, and as they approached, he took a drag of his cigarette and squinted at them.

"It's about time you kids showed up," he piped through a cloud of smoke. He stubbed the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and tucked the butt in his pocket. He offered that same hand to Eames, who hesitated. Goren saved her the trouble of being rude.

"Detective Goren. This is Detective Eames." While the man nodded at Eames, Goren rubbed his palm against the side of his pants.

"So they get me outta bed this morning only to stand on this porch with my thumb up my ass waiting on Major Case," the man said, neglecting to introduce himself. He turned away and pushed the door open, and went inside. They followed.

The body was just inside the door. A man, in his fifties or sixties, lay crumpled on his side, the white of his tuxedo shirt stained dark red where blood had run down the side of his head. His eyes were open, almost seeming intent on the pair of blue high-heeled shoes not far from his face.

"Name's Harold Davenport," the other detective said.

"The real estate guy?" Eames asked, pulling on a pair of gloves.

The detective nodded, hands on his hips as he surveyed the body. Beside Harold Davenport's prone form, a red-haired woman in a medical examiner's coat was copying something onto a clipboard.

"Blunt force trauma to the head, Rodgers?" Goren asked the woman, who smirked up at Bobby.

"What tipped you off detective?"

Goren moved around the body, where the floor was clear of blood, and bent down to examine it.

He gave the ME an amused half-smile and leaned in closer to the back of Harold's head. With one gloved finger, he moved aside the dead man's hair, prodding at the bloody mess, then gently pulled something white from the wound.

He studied it closely while Rodgers and Eames looked at him expectantly. "A broken piece...of marble..." He looked around, eyes searching the hallway. Standing, he took several steps, stopping beside the foyer table. Beside the small stack of mail and a crystal bowl filled with potpourri, he noticed a clean square in the thin layer of settled dust. "Uh...there was something here..." He studied the chip of marble in his fingers. "A...statue...of some kind...The killer was surprised when he came home...he grabbed the first thing he laid his hands on..."

"...and whacked the old man with it..." Eames concluded.

He nodded absently, holding out the marble chip to a tech who opened an evidence bag, allowing him to drop the piece of stone into it. His dark eyes continued to scan the foyer. "This was not...premeditated. Harold...surprised his assailant."

"A robbery gone bad?" Eames asked. She picked up the stack of mail on the table and looked through it.

"Maybe." His eyes found the local detective, who still had not introduced himself, standing nearby, leaning casually against the wall. Goren scratched his temple next to his eye. "Was there any sign of forced entry?"

"Nope. The boys are checking all the doors and windows, but nothing yet."

Eames watched him, and a warmth suffused her chest as she recognized the energy and curiosity that had only recently re-emerged in him. He was rediscovering his passion, and she didn't care what was responsible for his rebirth. She was thrilled to see it. Even Rodgers seemed to notice as she watched the big man troll the foyer, thinking and observing.

Goren paused before the painting that hung opposite the door. It was of the victim, and a younger woman with raven hair and blue eyes. Goren tilted his head ever so slightly, then turned to the other detective. He opened his mouth to say something when the sound of a door slamming startled everyone.

The sound had come from near the back of the house, and a moment later, a uniformed officer appeared through the arched doorway to their left. When he saw them staring, the young man's ruddy cheeks turned even darker.

"Wind," he mumbled. He extended his arm, and they saw what he held in his hand. It was a slender, marble statue of a woman, about twelve inches from head to foot. The corner of its base was covered with blood, and hair clung to a crack in the stone.

"Here's your murder weapon," he said unnecessarily. The officer took a step toward Goren and held the statue out to him.

Goren took it. "Artemis," he said, turning it over in his hands. He looked up, and saw them staring at him. He held the statue upright. "The Greek goddess of the hunt." He looked from Eames to Rodgers, then took a deep breath and thrust the statue at the waiting tech.

"Where'd you find it?" he asked the young officer.

The young officer waved a hand toward the back of the house. "In the yard, in a hedge of rose bushes."

"Show us."

He and Eames followed the officer through the house, and Goren's eyes actively scanned his surroundings as they passed through a formal dining room and into the kitchen. The young man continued out the back door, but Goren stopped.

Eames watched him as he was distracted by the kitchen, stooping to study the refrigerator door and then a nearby counter. Pointing to the handle of the refrigerator door, he cast a glance at his partner. "Uh...mustard..." His hand waved over the nearby counter. "And crumbs. He made himself a sandwich."

"Maybe the housekeeper made a midnight snack."

"And didn't clean up after herself?"

Behind them, the other detective said, "Last night the housekeeper was out. No one was in the house from the time the old man and his daughter left for their charity thing and the time he came home."

"So we have a hungry burglar who gets surprised by Harold coming home after his charity function and clocks him with a statue of Athena."

"Artemis," Goren replied without thinking.

She gave him a patronizing glance and he realized what he had done. With a sheepish grin, he muttered, "Sorry."

She watched him return to his examination of the kitchen, smiling when he wasn't looking. She rolled her eyes when he looked into the garbage and was not surprised when he fished something out of it.

Straightening up with a bottle in his hand, Goren opened the refrigerator. "There's one more bottle of this in here. It's, uh, sparkling water." Reaching in, he withdrew a bottle of imported beer. "He chose water over beer..."

Eames eyed the green tinted glass bottle in Goren's hand. "And that means?"

Goren didn't immediately reply, studying the label of the beer bottle. Then he glanced slowly back to Eames. "What?" Before she could repeat her question, however, the back door opened and the officer who'd found the statue edged back through.

"Um... did you ... are you going to..."

Goren replaced the beer in the refrigerator, then handed the empty bottle to the CSU tech that had followed them through the house. "Bag it," he said, and motioned the officer into the back yard.

They followed him along a stone path lined with flowers. It ended at a gazebo, almost covered with pink roses, but the officer veered aside before they reached it. Even for the rich, what passed as a "back yard" was rather minimal in New York City, and the grass ended at a wooden privacy fence less than eight feet from the gazebo. There, a gate was framed by hedges that stretched along the western fence, and it was here that the officer stopped and pointed.

"Behind there," he said.

Eames glanced at the spot, then moved toward the gate and touched the black latch. "They don't lock the gate?"

"It was open when we got here," the nameless detective interjected. "Making a hell of a noise with the wind at all."

Eames nodded, pressing the latch of the gate down. As if on cue, the wind tore the gate open and it slammed with a loud crack against the outer fence. "I see what you mean," she said, stepping through and glancing down the short alley formed between the fence and that of the neighboring house.

It was deserted, save for a trashcan to the left of the gate. She popped the lid and glanced inside, feeling Goren peering over her shoulder.

"Empty," she observed, dropping the lid and looking at her partner.

As they crossed the small yard heading back toward the house, Goren asked the nameless detective, "Have you determined whether anything was taken?"

"Nothing appears to have been disturbed. I'm thinking the old man came home before he had a chance to get into anything."

"Too busy eating," Eames said.

Goren swallowed a chuckle as he held the back door open for her. The other detective and the uniform followed them into the house. He looked over his shoulder. "Did the neighbors report anything unusual?"

"Not really. Nosy lady across the street says he came home around eleven. Thinks the girl's boyfriend was here earlier but didn't think anyone was home when Harold got here."

"Boyfriend?"

He pulled a notepad from his pocket. "Reggie 'Something British.' Helpful, huh?"

Eames glanced at her partner and knew by the look in his eyes that he wasn't with them at the moment. She turned back to the detective. "And just when were you going to mention him to us?"

"I just did, lady."

Goren's head snapped around and he came back with a crash, dark eyes glowering angrily at the disrespect in the other man's tone. "I suggest you apologize very quickly before I lose my temper. Never disrespect my partner. She asked you a question and you'd better answer her."

"Hey, back off. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry. To be honest, I just remembered she mentioned the guy."

Eames' hand closed on her partner's arm and he returned to his normal size and composure. "I think we're done here," she said. "Let's go talk to the daughter."

-

-

For Anyone That Didn't Read The Garden Of Vice:

Who are these people Goren's talking to in the beginning and what about them?

1. (Juliana Everett) is a forensic anthropologist turned social worker, who was once the only suspect in a serial murder investigation. She was cleared of all charges, but a curious bond formed between she and Detective Goren over the course of the case, and it has progressed into something more. A period of almost six months has passed between the conclusion of the case and the present story.

2. (River Everett) is Juliana's younger brother, whom Goren also met when Juliana was a suspect. Goren took a liking to the younger man, and they became friends. As the sequel unfolds, Goren has just returned from Boston, Mass., where he attended River's graduation from M.I.T.

3. (Jozua Everett) is also Juliana's brother, and is River's identical twin. Joz is a particularly ruthless criminal defense attorney, infamous for his work with individuals tied to organized crime. Although Goren has found a side of Jozua he likes, Eames despises him.

- It may be very helpful to at least read the epilogue of TGOV if you don't have time for the whole 250+ page story.


	3. On The Way To A Suspect

**Chapter 3**

**St. Clare's Hospital**

**May 23, 2009**

**10:42 A.M.**

Penelope's hands gripped the edge of the sheet tucked around her waist and she pulled it, first through one hand and then the other. She was much calmer, but she still could not dispel the image of her father, laying in a pool of his own blood, from her mind. Every so often, she drew in a staggered breath, punctuated by a sob. But she was not ready to face the memory without medication.

She looked up at the sound of a quiet knock, and the door slowly opened. A blond woman stuck her head into the door and, seeing her awake, came fully into the room, followed by a tall man in a nicely tailored suit. "Miss Davenport? I'm Detective Eames. This is my partner, Detective Goren. We're investigating your father's murder. We'd like to talk with you if you're feeling up to it."

Penny looked from one to the other, thought about refusing, but forced herself to nod. With her consent, the detectives approached her bedside, the tall man standing farther away than his partner, by the wall.

The woman offered her a smile before she spoke. "So...we understand you had been with your father that night?"

Penelope's thoughts instantly jumped to the harsh words she'd spoken to her father... the last time she would ever see him.

Her eyes filled with tears. "I... I said the most awful things to him...I..."

"You had a fight?" Detective Eames asked her.

Penny took a deep breath and nodded. She swiped the back of her hand across her nose, very unladylike. "The same fight we've been having since I told him about Ethan."

Now the big detective detached himself from the wall, produced a handkerchief, and handed it to her. "Ethan?"

With a brief smile, she took the handkerchief. As she wiped her eyes, she looked more closely at him. She liked him immediately. He had kind, understanding eyes. She nodded her head.

"Ethan Laurence," she told him. "My boyfriend. He...he's _British_." She announced this as though it were a point of particular satisfaction.

"Your father...didn't approve?"

She shook her head. "He thinks Ethan is after my money, but he's not!" Her eyes sought their understanding. "He loves me."

Both detectives smiled at this, and then the tall one asked: "So Ethan doesn't live with you?"

Penny shook her head. "No. He's at his parents summer home."

"Where's that?" Eames interjected, making it sound casual.

The implication of the question slipped past Penny. "Forty-eight Crescent Street, in the Upper East Side."

Goren nodded. "I know Crescent Street. That's a nice neighborhood." He scratched something in his notebook and added: "So did you see Ethan last night?"

"No…Monday nights are his nights with the boys." She smiled. "He plays poker down at Giamati's …" She flushed suddenly. "You know… just for fun."

"The boys? That's a tough crowd down there," Detective Eames commented, and her smile was rather wooden. Detective Goren was writing something in a leather binder.

"What time does he usually uh... get together with his friends?" he asked without looking up.

"Around nine...I won't hear from him until later this afternoon." She chuckled softly, then caught herself and lowered her eyes to the bed.

"Does he...drink a lot?" he asked, looking up from his binder with a curious lift of his eyebrows.

"Sometimes...but who doesn't?"

The female detective made an odd sound. "Right. Who doesn't..."

Penny was too self-involved to notice the look that passed between the two detectives. She was shaking her head. "He's going to be so upset when I tell him..."

Detective Eames frowned. "Ethan likes your father?"

"Of course he does," she snapped, indignant.

Another look went unnoticed and she adjusted the sheet at her waist.

"I am sorry, but we have to ask, Penelope... are there people that can verify your whereabouts last night?"

The tall detective leaned forward, catching her eyes with his dark ones when she refused to look up or answer his partner. She let her eyes linger on his before nodding. "I was with friends. They dropped me off at the house and I...found him..."

She began sobbing again.

In a gesture of sympathy, he touched her shoulder, and she shuddered as another sob vibrated through her chest. "It...it…was...horrible!"

At that moment, a nurse appeared in the doorway, paused as she took in the situation, then walked toward them. She shook her head and waved her hand at the detectives.

"That's quite enough, detectives. You'll have to leave now." She wedged herself between them and Penny and gave them a stern look.

Goren and Eames knew there was no arguing with her, and allowed themselves to be expunged from the room. Once in the hallway, they looked at each other and said, in quick succession of one another:

"Giamati's?"

"Poker?"

Eames almost chuckled. "That sounds like a motive in the making."

Goren nodded. "Giamati's is a Massuci front. I wonder if that's who "the boys" are? If he's in to them..."

"...he might be desperate enough to rob the old man to get them off his back."

"We need to talk to him."

Eames nodded, pushing open the door of the hospital and holding it open for her partner. "First, we need to eat. I missed breakfast this morning. And my coffee."

Goren gave her a look. "No coffee? That's not good."

"Tell me about it," Eames said as she got into the SUV. Goren opened his door, but hovered there, glancing at his cell phone. He pressed a key, then frowned. As he climbed into the truck, he put the phone to his ear.

"Hi," he said softly as he slid into the car. "What did your brother do?"

Eames raised a curious eyebrow at the stream of animated, indistinguishable words that followed. Listening silently for a long minute, Goren finally laughed softly. "I'll bet River is beside himself. Uh…so...are you busy right now? Would you like to, uh...join Eames and me for lunch?" He glanced at his partner, eyes questioning.

She gave him an amused smile and nodded.

"Yes...okay...yes, we're heading up that way right now. Sure...okay...we'll meet you there in about fifteen minutes." His face softened into a warm smile. "Okay."

He closed the phone and looked out the window.

Eames grinned, amused. "Hey, space cadet...where are we going?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, The Equinox Cafe, on 63rd and Lexington."

She pulled away from the curb and headed down the street toward 10th, looking forward to again seeing Juliana. Any woman who could do that to her partner had to be something special indeed.

* * *

The clouds had broken during their visit to the hospital, and the sun was turning the moisture on the street to steam. They arrived at the cafe before Juliana and found a table away from the window.

Goren sat facing the door, and Eames scooted into the booth across from him, glancing at the menu. She saw that he tried to do the same, but his eyes kept moving to the entrance of the cafe.

"So I take it things went pretty well in Boston?" she tried again, thinking perhaps this time he would elaborate.

"We're... seeing each other. Officially, I guess."

"You guess?"

He glanced up from his menu. "Well... we are."

She smiled at him. "How do you feel about that?"

He shifted uncomfortably and was saved from replying when the front door opened. His expression changed and he got to his feet as she approached the table.

Juliana's smile was sunny, and the haunted look Eames remembered from so many months ago was gone. "Hey guys," she said, and Eames suppressed a grin at the look the two of them gave each other. Like high school kids.

Goren lightly touched her elbow. "I'm glad you came," he said quietly, gently guiding her into the booth then sliding in beside her.

Juliana's glance at Eames seemed a bit shy, and the three of them sat for a few seconds in silence until the moment was broken by the appearance of their server.

Once drink orders had been taken, Goren turned to Juliana. "I'm surprised you didn't bring Riv."

She chuckled and shook her head. "He's too busy explaining to the contractor how he wants the downstairs of his little present remodeled." Saying that, she took her phone out of the pocket of her jeans and opened it. She pressed a button and held it out to Goren.

Goren took the phone, glanced at it, and Eames heard him give a low whistle.

Looking up, he handed the phone to her. She took it and looked at the picture of the outside of a two-story, tan stone building. "Very nice," she said in genuine admiration. "Is that your house?"

"No," Juliana answered as she accepted the phone back and closed it. "Jozua gave it to River as a graduation present. He'll be able to set up a lab on the first floor and there's plenty of living space upstairs. Riv is all excited about it."

"That was very...generous of your brother. When I graduated all I got was a bouquet of roses and dinner." She grinned.

Juliana smiled at that. "Joz has a good heart," she told Eames. "He's just good at hiding it."

Eames didn't know what to say to that. She still didn't like the guy, but she didn't want to say that to his sister. Likely she had an idea, already. So she just smiled and changed the topic.

"So when will you be going back to Boston?"

"I'm not. We've come back to New York to stay."

Eames looked at her partner, who was oddly interested in the menu. "I didn't know that. Will you be returning to ACS?"

"I still feel kind of... weird about being there." Goren shot her an uncomfortable look, and she met his eyes.

The waiter returned with their drinks, interrupting the uncomfortable silence. Eames watched Goren break eye contact with Juliana and return his eyes to the menu. The waiter asked, "Is everyone ready to order now?"

Eames nodded. "I'll take the Cobb salad."

Juliana nodded. "That sounds good. I'll have the same."

Goren folded the menu and handed it to the man. "Pastrami on rye, please," he said, his tone subdued.

The waiter finished writing the orders and gathered the menus. Eames watched Juliana shift uncomfortably and wondered if Goren was regretting his invitation. She sought to relieve the discomfort she had inadvertently caused. "So, River graduated from M.I.T.?"

Juliana smiled easily at that and seemed to relax, and it also eased Goren's tension. Her partner was clearly fond of Juliana's brother. "Yes, he did...with a Ph.D. in Aerospace Engineering."

Eames nodded. "I'm impressed. A rocket scientist, huh? I've never met a real one."

The conversation turned from there to space exploration, then to the weather, global warming (a topic through which Eames discovered that Goren and Juliana were like-minded environmentalists), the local elections, and finally wound its way around to Boston, when Eames got her first account of Bobby's trip.

The rest of lunch was pleasant, unbroken by any further awkwardness. Eames found Juliana to be good company; she was easy-going, a good foil for her partner's often brooding nature. It had always surprised Eames that the two had forged an attraction to one another given the circumstances of their meeting, but it seemed to her that it boded well for them. Goren was not an easy man to get to know and she was pleased to see that Juliana was interested enough to put forth that effort. Bobby deserved a chance at happiness.

It was over too quickly for any of their liking, but a phone call from Ross served as a reminder that there was work to do. There was a suspect that needed to pass inspection, and another case to close.

* * *


	4. Stalemate

_I spent a bit of time being unhappy with this story, because I was trying to tell it while leaving out characters from The Garden of Vice which captured my heart. I won't do that now. You'll see more of my OCs than might normally be a part of a CI fanfic, but it will all tie in, and I think it's merited after 100K+ words. ;) Enjoy._

* * *

Ethan Laurence's summer home was a four story, stone building, the windows dressed with planter boxes which hosted an array of brightly colored poppies- purple, red, white, yellow. White lace curtains hung open behind the glass, and potted, matching, cylindrical hedges stood on either side of the double oak door. A brass plate over the archway proclaimed the home "Sunnyside," and in all it seemed a welcoming place. 

Goren approached the door with Eames at his side, and leaned over the wrought iron railing to peer through the front window. Crescent Street was quiet, most of the driveways they'd passed empty. He wondered how many of these multi-million dollar homes stood empty most of the year.

He straightened away from the window as Eames rang the bell. He stepped back a few steps, lingering behind her as they waited for someone to answer the door. After a few minutes, they heard the tread of a heavy foot.

The door slowly creaked open, and they stood face to face with a stocky man in a dark suit. "May I help you?"

Eames held out her badge. "We're looking for Ethan Laurence."

The man studied her badge for a long moment, then shifted a disinterested gaze toward Goren, who held out his badge. The man drew back inside the house and waited for them to cross the threshold into the cool interior. Closing the door, he motioned them into a drawing room just off the main foyer. "I'll get Mr. Ethan for you," he said, withdrawing from the room.

"Now that's the job I want," Eames told Goren under her breath as the man ascended the stair case before them. "Somehow I doubt they fly him over whenever they decide to vacation here."

Goren smiled at her comment, but he was intent on the room around them. A cherry hutch stood against one wall, an antique, Victorian divan to their left. Above that hung a purple and white impressionist painting, which Goren leaned closer to inspect.

Finding that it was not a Monet, though he would hardly have been surprised given their surroundings, he turned his attention to the open arch of a doorway to his left. Just as he ducked his head around the corner, the sound of footsteps descending heavily down the stairs arrested his curiosity, and he backed away from the doorway and straightened beside Eames, hands behind his back.

The man that had greeted them at the door preceded a younger man, undoubtedly Mr. Ethan himself. The latter was not terribly tall, perhaps five ten, with strawberry blonde hair in disarray about a ruddy, tired, quite handsome face..

"May I help you, Inspectors?" he asked, his accent surprisingly light.

"Ethan Laurence?" Eames began.

Ethan reached the base of the staircase and bowed at the waist. "At your service," he said lightly, flashing her a charming smile.

"I'm Detective Eames and this is my partner, Detective Goren. We would like to talk to you about Penelope Davenport and her father."

His smile did not fade. "What would you like to discuss?"

Annoyed, Goren shifted beside his partner. He didn't trust this man. "Where were you last night, Mr. Laurence?"

Ethan raised his eyes toward the hulking detective behind Eames. His smile remained in place. "That's Sir Ethan, inspector."

"We still need to know where you were last night, Sir Ethan," Goren responded, not missing a beat.

"I was right here, in my chambers with a nice bottle of wine and an interesting book."

Arching an eyebrow, Goren pressed, "What book?"

Ethan's smile widened. "Not something I can...discuss in front of a lady...but if you are truly interested, I could show you."

Goren's mouth parted, several responses coming to mind, but Eames interrupted.

"I'm not that modest." She stared at the young man, and Goren looked for her words to have the desired affect on Ethan. To make his composure slip.

Instead, he actually blushed, and seemed uncomfortable. "Well, I am," he told her, blinking. Then he looked back to Goren, his eyes sparkling. "You wanted to talk about Penelope? Or my vices?"

Goren met his eyes, a fleeting smile touching his lips. "Why don't we discuss both?" he suggested.

Ethan's eyes shifted briefly toward Eames, and his lips curled in a sly smile. "Perhaps another time, detective. Shall we restrict our conversation to more polite topics with a lady present?"

"If it makes you uncomfortable..." Goren challenged.

Ethan again looked toward Eames. "Shall we save the topic of my reading materials for another time and discuss the much more pleasant topic of my dear Penny?"

Eames regained control of the discussion. "Can your butler attest to the fact that you were here, Sir Ethan?"

"But of course," he replied, a charming smile returning to his face as his eyes slowly traversed her body, again setting her partner on edge. When his eyes returned to her face, he found it a delightful shade of pink. "Why so interested in what I do at night?"

Goren felt his jaw clench as he watched Ethan's eyes travel along his partner's figure, and he threw the next words at him.

"So you were here last night, taking comfort in fine literature. Was that before or after your card game?"

"After," Ethan said without missing a beat, his eyes still on Eames."Last night wasn't a good night for games of chance." He turned his smile on Goren then. "Incidentally, why do you ask?"

"Harold Davenport was found dead this morning, Ethan," Eames said, and Goren could tell from her tone that this man bothered her as well.

Ethan looked at her, his blue-green eyes widening. The muscles of his cheek twitched, and Goren saw him swallow. Did he really not know?

Or was he that good?

"Dear Lord," he muttered, the color draining from his face along with his cocky attitude. "How is my dear girl? Oh, never mind...I shall go to see her myself."

Goren's eyes narrowed, suspicion still maintaining a tight grip on his gut. "I wouldn't recommend that. She's in the hospital."

"What? Was she injured?"

Eames superimposed herself in front of her partner once again. "She'll be fine. Tell us about your relationship with Penelope and her father."

Ethan stared at her, his pale brows lowering. "I'm a bit tired of your implications, sweetheart," he snarled. Then he seemed to recognize the slip in his fine manner, and pressed the fingers of one hand to his temple. Before either of them could say anything, he turned his head and shouted: "_Gerald! Bring round the car, won't you?" _He looked back to the detectives. "I really must go and see her."

The slip in Ethan's manners grated on Goren and he took two steps closer to the smaller man. "That's Detective Eames to you," he growled.

Ethan took a step back, away from him. "Would you call off your pit bull here, Detective Eames? I blame my poor manners on the shock of hearing what has happened to my poor dear Penny and her father. I meant no slight."

Eames crossed her arms over her chest but said nothing. Maybe a little intimidation was just what Sir Ethan needed, and Goren more than fit the bill.

Ethan took another two steps toward the door, regaining his composure. His smooth charm returned as he addressed Eames. "Forgive me for taking off on this delightful conversation, but I really must be going. My darling girl needs me. Gerald will be in to show you out in just a moment."

He slipped from the room after one more leering perusal of Eames, just to antagonize her partner.

Goren turned to watch him go. He sauntered to the curb beyond the open door, checked his watch, then glanced at a cell phone as Gerald pulled a silver Cadillac up. Ethan didn't speak to his butler as he traded places with him in the driver seat, and Goren couldn't deny a sensation of misgiving as Sir Laurence left them behind with an ineloquent screech of tires.

The butler seemed unconcerned, however, and he walked casually up the steps to the front door, casting them a half-lidded, bored gaze. "It was such a pleasure," he intoned, then smiled falsely as he took the edge of the open door in one hand and extended his other arm toward the street. "Another time, then?"

Goren let Eames lead the way to their vehicle, a dark frown on his face. There was something deeply unsettling about Sir Ethan Laurence, but he couldn't put a finger on it just yet.

* * *

Jozua Everett stood before the painting on his wall. Magritte's "_La Traversee Difficile._" He remembered his elation in acquiring it, for just over a quarter of a million dollars, at an auction three years ago. But he remembered more succinctly the way the detective had stolen his private joy, standing there with his hands behind his back analyzing the painting and feeding him his unwanted interpretations. Now he stared at it without satisfaction, and felt one hand clench.

He turned away, his eyes grazing the city scape beyond the window, and he felt bitter. This same detective had stolen the short joy he'd felt at reconnecting with his twin brother. There had been so many years and so much between them. And now there was one more thing.

On impulse, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and browsed to his brother's number. He smiled thinly at the memory of River's amazed pleasure that morning, when he had put the keys to a four million dollar building in his hand. Who said money couldn't buy happiness? His finger hovered over the send button, but an arrogant, unexpected pounding at his office door startled him.

Before he could respond, the door banged open and a short, stocky man exploded into the room. In a voice that was little more than a growl, he said, "I need to talk to you, Everett. Now."

Jozua stood frozen behind his desk, taking in the man that had just burst through his door. His constant low-level anxiety boiled into his chest, like rage. "This is _my_ office."

"And my boss is your fucking client, asshole.!"

Jozua knew who this was. Part of the reason he was so damn good at his job was the fact that he missed nothing, and forgot nothing. Eddie Falco, Sergio Parisi's nephew. The man was a thug, and his presence alone spoke volumes. He drained his scotch, dropped the empty glass on the desk. Resentment a lead weight in his chest, he flicked a hand at the other man. " Close the fucking door."

Falco slammed the door behind him and stalked across the room. Balling his fists, he braced them on the desk. "I heard a vicious rumor that you're backing out of my uncle's case. Now tell me that ain't so, lawyer man."

Jozua sensed the threat in the other man's tone, but he wasn't in the mood. "I don't take cases I can't win," he snapped, and saw the other man's eyes darken.

"You won Markie's case. You can win this one. Or are you sayin' you ain't as good as we thought you was?"

Jozua felt his eyes, of their own accord, trace Falco's form for the bulge of a gun, or something else. He flushed with a mixture of humiliation and anger when he saw recognition in the career criminal's sneer. "The FBI is sitting on me. It's bad all around." His response felt weak even to him

"We don't care about the feds, Everett. That's your fucking problem. You ain't backing out of this case unless it's in a body bag."

Jozua closed his fingers over his palm, tucking them under his arm. The lack of control made him shake. The muscles of his jaw worked with a multitude of responses, none of which could get him out of this mess. It was, however, against his nature to back down. He responded in the only way he could. "You pay me twice what I got for Verrecchia."

Falco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You do twice the work and get my uncle off, and we'll pay you. Shortchange us...and you'll be the one paying. You...your blue-haired brother and that sweet dish of a sister you got. Understand me, lawyer boy?"

Jozua felt his blood turn to ice as a wave of shock spread through him. He knew his face betrayed nothing. Cold eyes and void features were something he'd learned well from his mother. Several responses played through his mind, from most honest, to most calculated. _Don't you touch them, or I'll kill you myself. I'll do anything you tell me to._

What he said was: "I still want the money."

This was a language these people understood. The minute they knew he was afraid, he was through.

"Then do your job. Don't make me pay you another visit." Falco backed toward the door. His stubby fingers wrapped around the handle and his cold eyes narrowed. "Remember what I said, Everett. We're watching them, too."

He slipped through the door and Jozua was alone.

He stood there, watching the door. Slowly, his eyes moved to the empty glass on his desk, and his stomach twisted. He sank into the chair, his foot bringing the trash can out from beneath his desk, and he was ineloquently sick.

* * *


End file.
